1
Dear Parents,
[Liverpool, May 6 or 7, 1916]
After difficulties of all sorts, I have
finally made it to Liverpool, but my boat leaves in three days which is
what has forced me to hit you up but the company will pay you back before
long.
I'm still under pressure and will send details
shortly.
Affectionately, Louis
2
My Dear Simone,
Liverpool,
Sunday Evening [May 7, 1916]
Being forced to spend a Sunday in London
is already enough of a disaster, but it quickly takes on the characteristics
of a catastrophe when circumstances compel you to spend it in Liverpool.
You could never imagine a place as repugnant,
as filthy, and as religious.
Nonetheless, around 6 o'clock in the evening,
possibly for the joy of seeing this bothersome day come to a close, the
different Protestant sects come out from their retreats, banners flying,
and circulate in all directions throughout the city to the sounds of hymns
that, under the circumstances, take on a vague feeling of military marches.
They then finally settle in different squares and continue more ardently
than ever to thank the Lord for having f****d us all.
I've long been indifferent to this type
of demonstration, but these in Liverpool are quite peculiar, due to the
incalculable number of dockers that make up the old stock of the population,
and who wait for the bars to open at 8:30, and come around to work up
a thirst and "throw one back" to the sounds of the sacred music.
True professionals, they spread out among
the believers, contributing considerably to the resonance if not to the
piety-I saw one before me who eagerly struck up a hymn to the Virgin in
which the exceptional physical and moral virtues of this latter were repeatedly
praised, and in which the adjective "beautiful" kept coming up, which
offered the docker the chance to stress the word as he contemplated a
woman close by, who herself seemed quite content to appropriate the tributes
originally destined to the mother of God-which, as you can see, constitutes
a distressing double usage.
Yours sincerely,
Des Touches
3
[Telegram
to parents][Liverpool, Wednesday May 10, 1916]
Sayled
today: Destouches
4
Dear Dad,
Sierra-Leone
[Freetown, May 25, 1916]
For the last three days I've been taken
by a violent fever-Empty my savings account send me 1000 francs. I'll
work doing anything in Paris-to pay you back-but I can't stay here-I'm
still in Duala. Write me here.
Affectionately, Louis
C.F.S.O. Duala-
5
[Postcard
to his father][Freetown, May 27, 1916]
Say
nothing to Mother. Will send another card home.
Such a violent fever-Send Duala Money to
my account Banque Afrique Öquatoriale. Won't touch it if I can hold out.
Forgive me not my fault. Two dead on board.
Louis
6
[Postcard
to his father][Freetown, May 27, 1916]
Tremendous
heat.
Louis
7
[Postcard
to his father][Freetown, May 27, 1916]
-are
very hot
Very bad crossing
With love
Louis.
8
[Postcard
to his father][Freetown, May 27, 1916]
In
quarantine.
L
Des Touches.
9
[Postcard
to Simone Saintu][Freetown]
We're
in quarantine
Hell.
Best wishes,
Louis-
10
My Dear Milon-
S.S.
Accra-Lagos, June 2, 1916
The experience is conclusive-There is absolutely
no future here, and not for a lack of commercial opportunity but as a
result of climacteric conditions which are purely and simply abominable-The
Europeans here look consumed by all sorts of ailments, due in part to
excesses but also to sanitary conditions. All healthy living is impossible
and it is only at the cost of one's health that one manages to do anything
here-I myself suffered an attack of fever in Sierra-Leone and won't last
long in Africa. We will leave for Duala tomorrow ... I'll stay there a
month or two to repair the onerous aspects of this little experience as
much as possible--Stop by at my place and let me know how things are.
If you see some sort of possibility in Paris don't forget about me--
The region is excessively rich, and indisputably
open to a great future-seriously. It's hopeless for whoever wishes to
hang on to tolerable health.
Nothing is sadder than the yellow faces
of the local colonists. Listless, looking consumed by every imaginable
fever-sad wrecks--from which life is being slowly sucked away, as if absorbed
by a sun that drowns everything and infallibly kills whatever resists.
Write me quickly not at my place but at
the address below.
Louis des Touches
Elder Dempster Agency
Duala (Cameroon)
Africa
11
[Postcard
to his father][Lagos, June 5, 1916]
Leaving
for Duala, feeling better-but very hot
Louis-
12
[Postcard
to Simone Saintu][Lagos, June 5, 1916]
Not
beautiful. Sad.
Louis-
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